


commence

by Shamelessly_Radiant



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M, Glebya if you squint, In a crowd of thousands was barely lukewarm comparing it to still/the neva flows, Not Really AU, and his Anyaaaaaaaaaaa, but does not follow the musical either, but it's Ramin Karimloo, certainly in the movie, honestly casting Ramin Karimloo as Gleb and giving him such songs was a mistake, i'll always love dmitry/anya, i'll stop now, more of a prelude to them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 20:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15275874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamelessly_Radiant/pseuds/Shamelessly_Radiant
Summary: After Anya finds out Dmitry and Vlad only wanted to use her to take an old woman's money and break her heart, she runs away from them and straight into Gleb - he offers comfort, a cup of tea and a listening ear, and she accepts.





	commence

Unable to stop them this time, Anya lets the tears fall. Looking down and not really watching where she is going, she makes her escape blindly and walks fast. She’s on the Nevsky Prospect when she bumps into someone, and two hands catch her shoulders. She gasps, startled, and twists forcefully to get herself free.

“Always in a hurry, comrade,” a man’s voice murmurs. Gleb. “A man would think you weren’t happy to see him.”

“Oh, it’s you,” she smiles tremulously, wiping the last tears from her cheeks. Truthfully, she is relieved. She had expected Dmitry, Vlad, or worse, another man with too strong hands and pretty propositions. Many of her companions accept, offer their bodies in trade for a warm meal and bed, but Anya never has wanted to.

His eyes follow the movement of her hands on her cheeks. He awkwardly lifts a hand, but drops it before it can reach her face. It makes a dull sound when it smacks against his leg. “Are you alright, Anya?”

“Were you serious, when you called yourself my friend?” She asks him, worrying her lip. Gleb has been kind to her, but he is also a Bolshevik officer, and not just any of them, but the Deputy Commissioner himself. People have disappeared for less than whispers, and Anya always keeps her head down around the soldiers—their uniforms inspire a bone deep fear in her, one she cannot rationally explain.

“You’re trembling again,” he says, in lieu of an answer, though it is true: the air is getting noticeably colder around them, and Anya is shivering under her coat. “Let me buy you a cup of…”

She smiles as he falters. This is the third time he’s offered, and twice before she has denied him. But now… “Yes, please.”

He smiles, breathtaking and lovely, and leads her away with a gentle pressure to her back. What an odd pair they must make, Anya reflects. An officer and a street sweeper. She doesn’t dare meet anyone’s eye.

Moments later they are both sitting, clutching a warm cup. He drinks tea, she nurses warm water with lemon. If she closes her eyes, the taste is enough to make her believe she’s somewhere else. She likes to believe she used to drink this with her family, once upon a December.

She opens her eyes again, meeting Gleb’s gaze, and looks away instinctively. Those eyes, piercing black, make her almost confess to a crime she didn’t commit. She feels interrogated just by looking into them. But his face is soft now, patient.

“I was at the palace again,” she confesses, and pauses at his sharp intake of breath, but he doesn’t say a word. “I just wanted to know if it was true, and, and it was. I—“

She breaks off, collects her thoughts. Begins again.

“A few years ago, I woke up in a hospital, with nothing but the clothes on my back and—“ her hand twitches towards her diamond, but she changes her mind. Kind though this officer may be, it is a secret she has kept for a long time now, and she still isn’t sure if he’s someone she really can trust.

“And no memories of my past.” Just scars, and nightmares, and _faces_ she doesn’t recognize. “‘Call the child Anya,’ the nurses said. ‘Give the child a hat’. I don’t know a thing before that.” She keeps her gaze trained evenly on the table as she recounts her history, her hands clasped in her lap. “But I dream. I see flashes of fire, I hear echoes of screams. But I also see a city, a city that looks awfully like Paris, and I hear a voice talk about Paris, and about _loving_ me.” Anya takes a few, measured breaths, taking a quick peek at his face. He hasn’t moved since she started talking, and the world seems oddly reduced to the two of them, as if they’re in a little bubble apart from the bustling of the shop, and the people hurrying on the street.

“So, when I met Dmi- _them._ When they said they could get me to Paris, and told me I could be… _her_ , I thought to myself ‘why not’.” She shrugs. “I don’t remember a thing, I’m about the same age, and if not, the Empress would see right away and I’d be in Paris, as I’ve always dreamed I’d be.”

His teacup rattles loudly against its saucer as he sets it down suddenly, and his face goes stonier and stonier with every word she utters. She holds up her hand as he opens his mouth, desperately wishing to be able to finish her story first. She smiles, sighing as he snaps his mouth shut again. “But, when you told me about the… the _auditions_ , the farce, how they were planning to trick an old woman and break her heart— I confronted them. Vlad spun some pretty lies about reuniting a family, but Dmitry was so angry, and then I knew. They were just _using me_ , weren’t they, and I let them, as if I am such a fool, so easy and desperate enough to be manipulated—“

“Anya—“

“So that’s why I was in such hurry,” she comments lightly, draining the last of her beverage, even though it has gone cold. Outside, it has become fully dark, and Anya notices suddenly that they are one of the last customers. There is just another couple left, and they’re putting on their coats. The patron is glancing at them every few seconds.

Gleb follows her gaze, and stands up. She goes to fish out the few coins she has in her pocket, even though she knows it will not be enough, but he holds up a hand. “I said I’d buy you a cup of tea, comrade. I keep my word.”

The woman smiles at her as she slips past on the arm of the man, who frowns, looking between her and Gleb. She stands up as he comes back to the table, shrugging on her coat. He frowns at it, looking at her hands and her head. Suddenly self-conscious, Anya looks down and away, awaiting what comes next.

Gleb lifts her chin with a single finger, waits until she meets his gaze before he speaks: “is that all you have? It’s cold outside.”

Anya snorts, against her will. She knows it gets cold. She huddles up at night between strangers, and hopes she’ll wake up with all her belongings. A sleep riddled with nightmares is both a blessing and a curse: she wakes up easily at any hint of wrongness, but people don’t like sleeping next to her, while she could desperately use their warmth.

“I’m sorry!” she exclaims, as she sees his face at her reaction, “it’s just…” she shrugs, pushing callused fingers into her pockets, “I’m a street sweeper.”

It is not exactly an answer, and yet it is. Street sweepers don’t make much money. No one really does anymore, but still.

“Excuse me,” the patron cuts in ruefully, “but I really need to close.”

“Oh, of course!” Anya smiles at him, moving toward the door quickly. Gleb follows silently. As they stand on the steps outside, Anya looks up at him, waiting for the catch.

“What is the charge, comrade?” she asks him, smile fading slightly. The cold air makes her sober up quickly, realise she is very much in the real world, and not in some secluded safe bubble. Anya dreams of fire flashes, of screams and dead faces. A little boy tells her they’ll all die soon.

She curses herself for her stupidity and hopes her trust in him was not misplaced, but she’s also glad for the liberating freedom telling her story brought her.

Shivering, she huddles into her coat as she waits for his answer.

He takes of his hat, placing it gently on her head, smoothing out her hair. His fingers brush her cheeks, and Anya _feels_ something… a certain warmth settles in her belly, flutters there. His fingers feel nice on her skin.

“No charges… _Anya_. I am very glad you heeded my warning.” Something flashes in his eyes, but then it is gone, a soft look stealing his face. “Where are you headed?”

“Oh, it’s just around the corner,” she gestures, and only exaggerates the nearness of the bridge she sleeps under by a little. She doesn’t want him to know. “I’ll be fine.”

He nods, serious. “If you ever find yourself in trouble again… don’t hesitate to ask for my help.”

Anya decides she will ponder this later, and simply nods.

“Get home safe, yes?”

“You too, Gleb.”

On impulse, she grips his fingers, before returning her hand to the warmth of her coat pocket. His eyes are wide and surprised on hers. He smiles.

Anya turns to walk away, and finds she is smiling, too. Despite the cold air around her, she feels oddly warm.

And that night, Anya sleeps well, and her dreams, though she can’t remember them when she wakes up, are filled with smiling brown eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> If I get inspiration to continue this, I'll expand it. You're welcome to bounce off ideas & tell me if you like it. I suspect Anya would not give up Paris entirely, so maybe that's a way to go.


End file.
